Gift with Purchase
by LadyDivine91
Summary: To prepare for a big audition, Tina takes Blaine to Sephora for a little freshening up, where Blaine meets the sales associate of his dreams. Klaine, Kurt H. Blaine A.


**Written for HKVoyage, because I don't think I ever thanked her enough for "writing me into" her big fic, Butterfly Wings :D**

"I don't know _why_ I let you talk me into this," Blaine says, turning on his heel and walking down the street the way they came. "This is _ridiculous_."

"No, it's not! It's brilliant!" Tina grabs Blaine by the shoulders and spins him back around with surprising strength. "I'm not saying get a full glam makeover, just a little touch up. You want to look your best for your audition, don't you?"

"I guess. It's just … I haven't worn makeup in so long. I feel kind of silly putting it on now." Blaine can't help feeling a bit self-conscious. He's been cultivating a new image since high school – a more _macho_ image. It hasn't exactly been working for him the way he'd hoped, but one thing it doesn't include is makeup.

"Nonsense." Tina turns him slightly, directing him to Sephora. "BuzzFeed says that men these days get touchups all the time. Everybody from baristas to CEOs drops in on their lunch hour to get freshened up."

"You know, you can't trust everything you see on BuzzFeed, Tina." Blaine puts his hands out and pulls open the door before Tina can push him straight through the glass. "Besides, I don't think that plumper lips or the perfect smoky eye is going to help me get this part."

Tina shrugs. "You never know. This is a _Broadway_ roll you're going for."

"You might have a point."

"Look at the services they offer." Tina parks Blaine underneath a sign titled 'In-store Services'. "Contour, Flawless Foundation, Correct and Conceal, Polished Brows. You have to admit, Blainey, your eyebrows _could_ use a little love."

"What?" Blaine reaches up subconsciously to touch his maligned brows. "My eyebrows are my signature feature."

"Well, they shouldn't be! People should know you for your soulful eyes, your sexy smile, your perky ass! Not those caterpillars on your face!"

"Excuse me, Tina Cohen-Chang, but I-" Blaine has yet to decide which part of her remark he finds more offensive when he's distracted by a man standing behind the checkout counter, chatting with another associate.

The most sophisticated, well-dressed man that Blaine has ever seen in his life.

He doesn't look like he should be working at Sephora. He should be modeling for a high-fashion magazine, not slinging makeup in his designer suit, with his flawless skin, his perfect hair and teeth, and his high cheekbones. Then again, he's exactly the type of person that Sephora would be smart to hire. Everyone that walks in here must want to look like him.

 _Blaine_ wants to look like him.

From Tina's hanging jaw, she must want to look like him, too.

Or she wants something else from him.

And that makes Blaine shudder.

"Go, go, go!" she says, pushing Blaine towards the counter. "Go talk to him!"

"W-why?" Blaine asks, though he has a hundred answers for that question. Why _wouldn't_ Blaine want to talk to him? The question he's secretly asking is does he have _permission_ to talk to him? Is he _qualified_? Does he have to show some kind of credentials to be in the same room as this man?

"Because he might be gay!" Tina says as if Blaine isn't thinking – and hoping – that same thing.

"But what if he's not?"

"Well, then, we'll know he's straight and I can have a shot."

"Nice."

"What? I can't be the supportive best friend all the time. Tina needs some nookie, too."

"Tina!" Blaine whispers snappishly as Tina continues to push him forward. "I don't want to … I can't … I don't think I … Tina!"

Tina gives Blaine one good shove that sends him stumbling forward, his flailing arms swiping at a display of face masks that almost falls to the floor at the man's feet. The sound of Blaine colliding with the counter causes the man's head to spin in his direction.

"Oh, hey! Are you all right?" he says, extending a hand for Blaine to take if he needs. Blaine doesn't, managing to keep his feet without help. The man pulls it back when he sees Blaine steady himself, and Blaine silently kicks himself for not at least shaking it.

"Uh, yes," Blaine says. "I'm … I'm fine. I was …" He looks for Tina, who _was_ standing behind him a second ago. Blaine finds her three counters over, casually examining a display of Urban Decay lipsticks. How she teleported there so quickly, Blaine doesn't know.

"I was hoping that maybe you could help me," Blaine says, straightening his shirt and bowtie.

"Certainly. What is it that you need?" The smile the man flashes makes his face positively glow, and Blaine thinks, _'Whatever you have that can make my skin do that, I'll take it.'_

"Actually, I'm here … uh … for kind of … a mini makeover?"

"Really?" The man looks Blaine over appraisingly. "And why is that, Mr. …?"

"Anderson. Blaine Anderson."

"Mr. Anderson. So, why do you feel that you need a makeover?"

"Well, I want to be an actor …"

"Do you really?" The man leans against the counter to listen more closely, and Blaine is stunned by his reaction. Where most people, even Blaine's friends, roll their eyes and nod with fake encouragement and tight smiles, this man looks genuinely interested. Blaine considers the fact that he may be feigning interest as part of his sales technique, but that would make him a better actor than Blaine.

"Yes. In fact, I have an audition coming up next week for a part in a Broadway play."

"That's wonderful!" The man's smile becomes blinding after that revelation. "I bet you're excited!"

"I am. But I've been working really hard lately. Between classes and my part-time job, my skin is suffering. I feel like my face looks drier than usual. A-and I've got some significant bags under my eyes. Plus, I was thinking that I would like my face to look a bit more sculpted, maybe? Contoured? I-uh …" Blaine gazes down at the counter while he speaks, preferring to look at the man through his reflection in the laminate surface than in his eyes for this next part. "I suffered a small case of the freshman fifteen my first year at college, and I don't think I've gotten rid of it all yet. I've been told that you can see it a lot in my face."

The man quirks an eyebrow as if he's offended by the words coming out of Blaine's mouth, and Blaine begins to shrink in his shoes. It's probably his insecurity, Blaine figures. Or maybe his lack of knowledge. Blaine has heard that some of these Sephora employees can act kind of snooty when it comes to helping skincare and makeup amateurs. Blaine wants to take better care of himself, but this is an area where he's simply not so much in the know.

That's why he's here. To learn from the professionals.

Well, more professional than him.

"Honey," the man says, and Blaine braces himself. Here it comes – the lecture. "The only way you have baby fat anywhere on your face is if you weighed negative eighty pounds to begin with. That, or if someone glued an actual baby to your cheeks." Blaine laughs. From somewhere behind him, he thinks he hears Tina snicker. "Where is this fat of which you speak?" The man reaches a hand out to touch Blaine's face, but stops short of his chin. "Is it alright if I touch you?"

"Yes!" Blaine says a bit too eagerly. "I mean, of course you may."

The man holds Blaine's chin gently and moves his face from side to side. He squints his eyes, leans in close, examines Blaine's bone structure. "Yup, I'm not seeing this fat you claim exists on your face."

"No?" Blaine asks with a soft sigh, soaking in everything about this man touching his face.

"Nope, but I do see what you mean about your skin. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor neglected thing. We'll get you some products that will fix you right up."

"Great! Thank goodness."

As the man turns to the drawers behind him, Blaine inadvertently glances at the items laid around the counter, and for the first time takes note of their price tags. He doesn't know what the blue liquid is in the tiny pump bottle by his right hand, but for the amount of money it would take to try it out, he could buy groceries for a week. "Oh, but … I don't really have a lot of money."

"That's alright. That's the wonderful thing about Sephora - free samples. And you're allowed five free samples in every category. So let's go all out, shall we?" He starts pulling out travel bottles and packets by the handfuls. "We'll get you some moisturizers, some under eye concealer, maybe a new fragrance. Though …" The man leans forward and takes a sniff. "Whatever it is that you're wearing really seems to suit you. You might not want to mess with a good thing."

"Oh. Okay. Th-that's good to know." Blaine blushes as the man gets back to business because all he's wearing for the moment is Ivory soap and Aveeno.

"So here we have some of the more essential Glamglow products," the man says, filling a small Sephora bag with the items he's gathered together so far. "Masks and oils and exfoliating muds to clear away dead skin cells and bring back your natural glow. We've got some concealer samples, just to even out your skin tone, brighten up that under eye, help you look a little more awake after a night of partying …"

"Oh, I don't party," Blaine corrects, feeling like he needs to explain.

The man grins. He looks pleased and apologetic at the same time. "Maybe someone should fix that for you. But in the meantime, for after a long night of working and studying then."

"Yeah," Blaine says, still stuck on the _someone should fix that for you_ comment, hoping he meant someone like _him_ , perhaps?

"I've thrown in some mattifying powder to keep the shine on your nose at bay, some highlighter to give you shine everywhere else, and I know I said you didn't need it, but I included a few samples of Armani Code. It's their new fragrance."

"Oh." Blaine peeks in the bag as the man adds a few sample bottles. "I've never smelt it. Do you think that scent would suit me?"

"Well" – the man bites his lower lip and inches closer – "it's what _I'm_ wearing right now."

"Here you are, Mr. Hummel. Sorry for the wait."

The associate the man had been talking with when Blaine first arrived returns a second before Blaine gets the chance to catch a whiff of his cologne. Blaine hadn't even notice her go, but here she was, handing the man (Mr. Hummel?) a stack of flat boxes. "We had a small mix-up with the orders in the back."

"Not a problem, Olivia," he says, taking the boxes. "I found a way to keep myself occupied." He looks at Blaine and winks.

That wink hits Blaine like a kiss on the lips, and he discovers that he can't seem to get his mouth to work. "So, you don't work here," he manages after a long, embarrassing seven seconds with his mouth hanging open.

"No, I don't," the man admits sheepishly. "My name's Kurt Hummel. But if it's any consolation, I _do_ work for _Vogue_ , so it's not like your skin was in the hands of a maniac."

"Well, _that's_ a relief," Blaine kids, completely stunned.

"And unfortunately, I have to get back to the office. We're reviewing these products for a feature article, and I'm already late."

"Oh," Blaine says, disappointed. "That's too bad."

"But if you're still interested in that makeover, _and I'm really hoping you are_ …" Kurt moves an edge of the stack to the counter, freeing up his hand to search his pocket for his business card "… this has my number. Give me a call. You can come down to my office and I can take care of that for you. Your life sounds pretty stressful so we can start with a nice, relaxing facial, and move on from there."

Kurt gives Blaine a second wink. This one doesn't just leave Blaine speechless.

It makes him weak in the knees.

"That sounds … that sounds great!" Blaine gushes, curious what he'd done to deserve the offer of being pampered by this gorgeous man. If he has to be honest with himself, this wouldn't have even happened if Tina hadn't shoved him in here … literally. "Yes, absolutely, Mr. Hummel. I would love that."

"Good." Kurt chuckles. "And I would love it if you called me Kurt."

"Kurt," Blaine says, starry-eyed. "Yes. Kurt. I'll call you Kurt. And I'll call you … Kurt."

Kurt smiles, backing out the door while Blaine rambles, heading for a black Town Car waiting out front. A driver dressed in a navy suit takes Kurt's boxes while Kurt lets himself into the backseat. Blaine watches Kurt, dumbstruck, until the car pulls away from the curb, as if he had just been introduced to royalty.

After Kurt leaves, Tina returns, sliding up to Blaine with arms crossed and hip cocked.

"Well, well, well, I'm impressed. I left you alone with him for all of half-an-hour and he offered to give you a _facial_?"

It takes Blaine a second of clearing the hearts from his eyes before he grasps what Tina means.

"Oh God!" he groans, grabbing his bag of samples off the counter. "Not _that_ kind of facial, Tina! Gross!"


End file.
